When Don Amador found himself alone in the prison with Fabueno; with no
other prospect before him than that of remaining therein till it might
please the stars to throw open the doors, the rage that was too
philosophic to quarrel with stone walls, gradually subsided into a
tranquil indignation. Nay, so much command of himself did he regain,
that hearing his companion bewailing his fate in a manner somewhat
immoderate, as if regarding his incarceration as the prelude to a more
dismal destiny, he opened his lips to give him comfort.
"I must counsel thee, friend Lorenzo," he said, "to give over this vain
and very boyish lamentation, as being entirely unworthy the spirit I
beheld thee display in presence of that Biscayan boar. The insult and
shame of our present imprisonment are what thou dost not share; and
therefore thou shouldst not be grieved on that account. And, doubtless,
as thou wert arrested less because thou wert in fault, than because this
foolish governor was in a passion, he will liberate thee, when he cools
in the morning."
"I have no such hope," said Fabueno, piteously. "Don Panfilo is a most
bitter and unforgiving man, sudden in his wrath, inexorable in his
vengeance; and he has already indulged his fury at the expense of men so
much more elevated and powerful than myself, that I am in great fear he
will give me to some heavy punishment, for daring to oppose his
humours."
"Know, Lorenzo," said the novice, "that, in that opposition, thou didst
show thyself possessed of a spirit which has won my respect; and unless
thou dost already repent thy boldness, I will confess I am very grateful
to thee, that thou didst grasp thy sword in my cause. For which reason,
when we are again free, I will beseech the admiral to grant thee thy
wish, and immediately receive thee into my service, as a pupil in war."
"And how is your worship to be freed?" said Lorenzo, disconsolately.
"Sure am I, Don Panfilo will no more regard your worship's honour and
dignity than he did the privileges of the licentiate Vasques de Ayllon,
the agent of the holy monks of San Geronimo, and, what is more, an
_oidor_ of the king himself, whom, notwithstanding all these titles, he
imprisoned and banished, for thwarting him in a small matter."
"I have, in my own present situation, a sufficient and
never-to-be-forgotten proof of his violence and injustice," said Amador.
"Nevertheless, I entertain hopes of being soon at freedom; for if some
lucky opportunity do not enable me myself to break my bonds, I am
assured, the news of this most causeless and tyrannical outrage will, in
some way, be carried to the ears of my kinsman, the knight Calavar;
after which, I shall be very confident of liberation, and, after
liberation, as I may add, of satisfaction on the body of my wronger.
But, before we give ourselves up to despondence, let us see in what
manner we may be able to help ourselves. We should at least look a
little to the various entrances that seem to lead into this dungeon."
The apartment was spacious, but low; a narrow casement opened on one
side, at the distance of six feet from the floor, and admitted the
moonbeams, by which the captives were enabled to conduct their
examination. The door, through which they had entered, was strongly
barricaded on the outside. A passage leading to the interior, was
similarly secured, and equally impassable. The neophyte, with a sigh,
turned to the casement. A thick grating defended it, and shut out all
hopes of escape.
"We can do nothing, unless assisted from without," said Amador.--"I
would to heaven, I had kept my knaves at my side! With such a wary
servant as Baltasar at my back, and so faithful a desperado as Lazaro at
my side, I should have made another sort of departure from that abhorred
tower. The varlets are perhaps sleeping in security, without a thought
of their master. Nay, by my faith, it is not probable they should give
themselves to rest, without being made acquainted with my instructions
for the night. Perhaps they may be lurking in the neighbourhood, ready
to hear my call, and to obey it! At all events, senor secretary, I would
thou couldst mount to those iron stanchions, and take note of what is
passing on the outside."
"_Iron!_" cried the secretary quickly: "by San Iago of Compostella! a
thought strikes me. I know well, senor, that in these lands, iron has
almost the value of gold, and is too scarce to be wasted on the defences
of a temporary dungeon, where it might be stolen too, at the first
opportunity, by the Indians."
"Dost thou mean to say, that these bars are of wood?" demanded Amador.
"Indeed, I think so, senor; and if I had but a knife or dagger, and the
means of climbing into the window, I would warrant to be at liberty
before morning."
"Here is a poniard, of which the villains forgot to divest me," said
Amador. "Strike it against the stanchions:--if they be of wood, we have
much hope of freeing ourselves."
The secretary did as he was directed. He raised himself a-tiptoe, and
the sharp weapon buried itself in the flimsy barrier.
"If I had but something to stand on," he cried eagerly, "how soon might
we not be free!"
"There is neither stool nor chair in this vile den," said Don Amador;
"but I will not shame to give thee the support of my shoulder, and the
more readily, that I think thy slight frame would be incapable of
supporting my own greater weight.--Pause not," he continued, observing
that Fabueno hesitated: "If thy foot be near my neck, I shall know it is
not the foot of an enemy.--I will kneel to take thee on my back, as the
Saracen camel does to his master.--Stretch thyself to thy full height,
so as to cut through the tops of the bars; after which, without further
carving, thou canst easily wrench them from their places."
Fabueno submitted to the will of the novice, and Amador rising without
much effort under his weight, he was soon in a position to operate to
advantage.
"Why dost thou falter?" demanded the novice, as Lorenzo, after making
one or two gashes in the wood, suddenly ceased his labour.
"Senor," replied the secretary, in a low voice, "there is a guard at a
little distance, sitting under the shadow of the pyramid. A cavalier
stands in advance, watching--It is the captain Salvatierra!"
"May heaven strike me with pains and death," cried Amador, with an
abrupt ardour, that nearly tumbled the secretary from his station, "if I
do not covet the blood of that false and cowardly traitor! who, after
hiding his wrath under the cloak of magnanimity and religion, was the
first to seize upon me, and that from behind!"
"What is to be done, senor?" demanded Fabueno, in a whisper. "He will
discover me; and even if I can remove the grating, there will be no
possibility to descend without observation."
"Cut through the wood as silently as thou canst," said Amador; "and
then, when the window is open, I will myself spring to the earth, and so
occupy the dastard's notice, that thou shall escape without peril. Cut
on, and fear not."
The secretary obeyed, but had not yet divided a single stake, when
suddenly a noise was heard as of the clattering of armour, as well as
the voice of Salvatierra exclaiming furiously,
"To your bows, ye vagabonds! Quick and hotly! Drive your shafts through
and through! Shoot!"
"Descend!" said Amador.
But before the secretary could follow his counsel, here came four
cross-bow shafts rattling violently into the window; and Fabueno, with a
loud cry, sprang, or rather fell, to the floor.
"Have the knaves struck thee?" demanded Amador, as he raised the
groaning youth in his arms.
"Ay, senor!" replied the youth, faintly, "I shall never see the golden
kings of Mexico!"
"Be of better heart," said Amador, leading him to where the moonlight
shone brightest on the floor. "Art thou struck in the body?--If thou
diest, be certain I will revenge thee.--Where art thou hurt?"
"I know not," replied Lorenzo, piteously; "but I know I shall die.--O
heaven! this is a pang more bitter than death!--Must I die?"
"Be comforted," said the novice, cheeringly; "the arrow has only pierced
thy arm! I will snap it asunder, and withdraw it. Fear not: there is no
peril in such hurt; and I will bear witness thou hast won it most
honourably."
"Will I not die then?" cried Fabueno, with joy. "Pho! it was the first
time I was ever hurt, and I judged of the wound only by the agony. Pho,
indeed! 'tis but a scratch!"
"Thou bearest it valiantly," said Amador, binding his scarf round the
wound; "and I have no doubt thou wilt make a worthy soldier.--But what
is now to be done? If thou thinkest thou hast strength to support me for
a minute or two, I will clamber to the window myself, and remove the
bars, without fear the arrows of these varlets can do me much harm
through my armour."
"They are not above three-score yards distant," said Fabueno, "and,
senor, I feel a little faint. I know not, moreover, how I could escape,
even if your honour should be so lucky as to reach the ground."
"I should not have forsaken thee, Lorenzo," said the cavalier, giving
over, with a sigh, all hope of escape. "There is nothing more to be
done.--The foul fiend seize the knave that struck thee, and the dastard
that commanded the shot! I would to heaven I had beaten him
soundly.--How feelest thou now? If thou canst sleep, it will be well."
"I have no more pain," said the secretary, "but feel a sort of
exhaustion, which will doubtless be relieved by rest."
"Sleep then," said Amador, "and have a care that thy wounded member be
not oppressed by the weight of thy body. I will myself presently follow
thy example. If aught should occur to disturb thee, even though it
should be but the pain of thy hurt, scruple not to arouse me."
The neophyte watched till persuaded the secretary was asleep; then
devoutly repeating a prayer, he stretched himself on his hard mat with
as much tranquillity as if reposing on a goodly bed in his own
mountain-castle, and was soon lost to his troubles.